Page 19 of Gilded Desires

His reasoning steals the air from my sails, and I fall back in one of the leather chairs pushed up close to his desk.

Defeat weighs on my shoulders. “Harlon, I need room to breathe. Youhaveto let me breathe or I’m going to suffocate. Cassandra is not here, true. And I hurt for you. I lost a sister the day she was killed. But you’re going to lose me if you keep throwing up walls everywhere I turn.”

Familiar dark eyes level with mine. Worry and the weight of his empire have left fracture lines etched into his handsome face that were not there five years ago.

He dashes a hand in the air like he can erase what I just said. “I wish it were that simple. You are my responsibility. Something happens to my favorite sister, and I would burn this fucking city to the ground. You want the deaths of millions on your hands?”

He draws me to my feet and tucks me beneath his chin. His arms are comforting but at the same time, I want to rage at him for being the big, protective brother. It’s tiring.

Instead, I say what I always say when we get to this part of our years-old argument. “I’m your only sister.”

“Exactly. I don’t think I have a tall enough tower to keep you out of harm’s way.”

The off-hand comment has me pulling back and staring up at him.

“You try to put me behind a locked door and I will personally cut your nuts off for your enemies.”

My brother’s partners walk in. Santi is first with Cassius close behind. Both have finely tailored suits the color of midnight and oddly enough match Harlon’s in style and shade. Only Harlon wears a white tie whereas Santi’s and Cassius’ are black.

“Vamonos!Let us hold him down for you.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to kick the weekend off.” Cassius pulls out a knife from somewhere and starts twirling the blade between his fingers. He grins and there, just below the surface, I can see the thirst for blood he keeps hidden from almost everyone.

I turn back to Harlon. “I’m not an actual princess. You know that, right? You can’t lock me away and demand I behave like a good girl. I have wants and dreams.”

The deeply etched ditches across his forehead multiply.

“Speaking of dreams, if you would get involved with the family business a bit more you might find some direction for your life, and I wouldn’t have to worry so fucking much. Every time you step outside this building, I age a year for every hour you’re gone.”

Santi takes one seat and Cassius moves my bag aside and drops his substantial weight into the other. “He’s a fucking miserable dickhead when he’s worried, babe. You need to lay off the gas pedal some so he can breathe. Fuck so we can all take in some air.

Cassius nor Santi are my blood brothers, but they might as well be with how protective they are over me. I love them, but like with Harlon, I want to murder all three of them at times.

“Newsflash.” I snap my fingers to make sure they pay attention to this next part. “My life isn’t about you, you, or you. Nor all your cooked-up worries. It’s about me. And only me. You take care of the business because you want to. Me? I’m fine without the baggage our father has saddled our name with.”

Harlon slaps a hand down on the desk. “We’ve had this talk a million times. Enough!”

I raise my voice to match his. “I guess we’ll have to do it another million times before you get it through your head. My birth certificate might say Constantine, but I refuse to let it hold me back in the dark underworld of Chicago you so desperately cling to. Ever since Cassandra died, it’s like you did too. Don’t drag me down with you.”

Tears sting my eyes and my heart sinks at the hurt clawing across Harlon’s tight expression. I turn to Santi and Cassius.Their eyes are downcast and the stiff, white line of their lips tells me I went too far.

“I’m sorry for that. Fuck! It was unfair. Please hear me. All of you. I have direction. I want to be an artist. I want to live in the light and let color into my life. Not cling to the shadows and let my life be leached of color.”

Harlon’s eyes narrow into fine slits. “Artists starve.”

“Look at me like that all you want, but not this artist. By the time I am your age, brother, I will have my paintings in homes from the elite of Hollywood to the presidents of countries and everyone in between. Thanks for believing in me.”

I grab my bag.

“Let me help you get your artwork into shows. All I have to do is make a few calls.”

Halfway to the door I stop and pivot in Santi’s direction. His Spanish accent drips over his words. It’s one of the things I love to hear most when I have a particularly bad day. He’s an amazing singer and right now I can tell he genuinely wants to help.

“Thanks, but no. I will do this on my own. I can’t have my big brothers opening doors for me that I didn’t earn. I don’t work like that.” I walk around the desk and kiss my brother on the cheek.

His shoulders are pinned back, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. Typical big brother when he doesn’t get his way.

“Now call off your dogs. I would hate for any more of your men to get in trouble because they can’t keep up with me.”

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